


No One Escapes Death

by sur_oreo_the_1st



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010), Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-11 20:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20552549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sur_oreo_the_1st/pseuds/sur_oreo_the_1st
Summary: Quentin wakes up in a strange new realm. Helping friends, facing fears and running from foes, no matter the stakes, no one escapes.





	1. Quentin

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP. Any suggestions are welcome. I may go into some actual relationships for characters, or more than just relationships down the line (give suggestions if you want them).
> 
> This story will mainly follow Quentin, with others every now and again.

Quentin woke with a start, the metal of the bus stop wall cold against his cheek. He had fallen asleep again. He had to stop doing that. With a groan, he stood up and looked out across the now darkened street. How long had he been out? When he had walked to the bus stop, there had been a group of people gathered around a fire blazing away in an oil bin. Now, he noticed, that fire had gone out and the people had gone with it. And it seemed dark. At least, much darker than when he had walked to the bus stop. And why hadn’t the bus arrived yet? Unless it had arrived, and it passed him, and he was so tired that he slept through its passing. But then, someone would have woken him up, surely? It was all strange. 

Getting up, Quentin wandered down the street to the phone box. It was a good thing Freddy hadn’t come to him while he was asleep, he would have been unprepared. Luckily for him it had been a black, dreamless sleep. Finding the phonebox, Quentin put in his last quarter, the rest being spent on energy drinks to keep him going. Holding the phone to his ear, he dialed his home phone, hoping to get through to someone and seeing if they could come pick him up. He let the phone ring out and send him to the dial tone. This wasn’t good. He put the phone back and rubbed his eyes. 

“Think, Quentin, think.” He willed himself.

He counted through his options. Wait out the night here, and return to his research tomorrow, or see what he could do with what he had. He could, if things were bad, ask one of the nearby residents if he could get a ride home. Making his way back to the bus stop, he noticed how bitterly cold it was. And that overturned bin on the other side of the road. And that broken down car with a shattered windscreen. Strange, he hadn’t noticed that on his way to the stop. Reaching the enclosed bench, Quentin felt around under the seat for his bag. It was there. He quickly drew it out, and unzipped it. In it were two cans of soda, a pill bottle, a few books, a beanie, but most importantly, his wrist watch. He pulled the beanie over his head to help fight the cold. Then, he took a can and opened it, savouring the rush of fizz as he took a sip. Immediately he felt more awake. A little. He set the can down. He looked at the watch, and felt his heart drop. The two hands hadn’t moved from when he had last seen them, when he had made his way to the bus stop. Apparently, it was still 6 o’clock. He was at a loss. There was only one way he was getting home, and it didn't seem very likely. 

He crossed the street to the nearest house, seeing a red car parked in the driveway.

“Please be awake, please be awake..” Quentin murmured under his breath as he walked to the door.

He knocked twice. Hard. No answer. He knocked again. Nothing. A sense of fear overtook him, and he struggled to quell it. He knocked again, with what he could only think of as unnecessary force. The last knock was so hard it forced the door open. At least, it seemed like it had knocked the door off its hinges; in reality, the door had already been ajar ever so slightly, and Quentin hadn’t noticed in his panic. The door swung open, letting Quentin see the living room of the house. On the wall in the entry, he noticed a mirror. Avoiding his own exhausted expression, he looked past himself to see the red car he had seen in the driveway on his way to the house. It’s wind screen was cracked, the headlights gone completely. But what disturbed him most was the large dent in the hood, with what seemed to be a red substance smeared around it. A weird reaction with the paint? He felt stupid for being so hopeful. Quentin knew what it was. He started to panic. Suppose this was some scheme of Freddy’s? Was he really awake? His heart started pounding. Except it didn’t feel like his own heart. Instincts clicked, and he froze, listening out. Beyond the hedge that surrounded the house and kept it from view of the street, branches snapped. Someone was out there. He didn’t want to take his chances if this was some game of Freddy’s, so he opted to stay hidden. Quentin crept silently inside the house, swinging the door closed slowly behind him. He stopped it from slamming, lest he attract unwanted attention. Not that it would do much, seeing as if this was a dream, Freddy would know exactly where he was and what he was doing. The heavy footfalls made their way around the hedge, heading towards the driveway of the home. Quentin moved quietly through the house, looking for a safe spot to hide. He noticed the stairs going up a floor. He took them two at a time, reaching the top just as heard the front door slam open, and heard the heavy breathing of some kind of… animal was the only word he could think of. He felt, rather than saw, the thing listen, standing still but not getting any less quieter. He too, froze, lest his movement alerted the unwanted guest. His balance, perched at the top of the stairs, started to dwindle. He felt himself start falling backwards. Suddenly, a hand flashed out from the shadows of a bedroom, and grabbed the front of his jacket, yanking him up. A second hand slapped over his mouth and muffled his yell of surprise. 

Quentin felt himself get pulled into the pitch black room, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the window. The face of his (rescuer?) kidnapper came into view as she stepped out of the darkness nearest the doorway. She had platinum blond hair that fell around her shoulders in slight waves, and a soft complexion, but her eyes were what struck Quentin the most. Green, and eerie in the moonlight. She put a finger to her lips in shh, and emphasised her point by pressing hard against Quentin’s face. He fumbled with her wrist before wrestling her hand off of his face. 

“Are you crazy?! You scared the shit out of me!” Quentin whispered hoarsely.

“Shh! If he hears us, we’re dead!” She whispered fiercely back, punctuating ‘dead’ with a slight shake of Quentin’s arm.

“He?” Quentin questioned.

“He. We call him the Trapper. Wears a mask of bone. Uses bear traps to catch his prey.” The girl explained in a rush, constantly checking the doorway for any sign of the figure downstairs. 

“Prey?” 

“Us.”

A shuffle downstairs. Movement. Heavy boots, walking around downstairs. The girl motioned to stay quiet. Quentin did. The footsteps seemed to pause at the foot of the stairs. Quentin felt his spine chill as heard the Trapper take a step. Then another. And another. Then there was a pause. Quentin held his breath. So did the girl. There was silence in the house, except for heavy, panting breath. The thing downstairs was listening. Waiting. If it was Freddy, he would already know they were here, and this would just be a game of his. But if it wasn't...

“What do w-?” He whispered feverishly to the girl, before she shushed him with a gesture, a panicked expression on her face. 

Quentin shut himself up, but the damage was done. The footsteps got faster and faster, the thudding of the heavy boots up the stairs growing in both intensity and purpose. The panting breath grew closer. Quentin whirled around, looking for a way out. The moon shone like a beacon through the window behind him, its cracked pane coated in grime and dust. He glanced at the girl, who had followed his gaze and had noticed the window, too. Their eyes met. Quentin pointed at her and then the window, silently trying to tell her to go, run, escape this shitshow. It had been his fault that the Trapper - or whoever it was - had found them in the first place, after all. The girl shook her head, her eyes trying to convey their own message. She held up a jagged piece of glass, the sharp cutting edge glinting in the reflected moonlight. Quentin hesitated. The Trapper bursted through the doorway, a muscular hulk of a man who dwarfed both Quentin and the girl. He wore a mask, made of some (didn’t she say bone?) tough-looking material, which had a wide grin carved into it, lined with sharp, jagged teeth. He wore overalls, and seemed to have metal spikes protruding from him in places. However, this brutal display was insignificant in comparison to what he carried. A heavy, thick metal cleaver, a metre long and half an inch thick, coated in dried blood and rust. Quentin didn't want to be on the receiving end of that. He swung this huge piece of scrap metal through the air at speeds that shouldn't have been possible, aimed at the girl. Lightning fast, the girl ducked the blow, and, using the Trapper’s own momentum, stabbed his arm with the glass, shoving him into the wall at the same time. He grunted in surprised rage as he connected with the wall, his cleaver jammed in the now-ruined timber work. Quentin paled at the damage. The girl didn't seem to realise how close she had come to death, but he did. Dashing forward, he grabbed her by the arm, and hauled her to the window as the Trapper pulled the glass out of his arm.

“Jump.” Quentin breathed to her, his heart pounding and his breath coming in short bursts.

“What about yo-?”

Quentin heard the Trapper pull his cleaver out of the wall. There wasn't time.

“I don't know. I'll figure something out.”

He shouldered the window, causing it to crack, before he put a foot through it and broke it. The tinkering of glass was punctuated by a high pitched whoosh as something heavy and metallic came swinging right at him. The girl had barely cried a warning out before he felt the cleaver hit him. He staggered into the wall with the blow, and there was a thud as the girl jumped through the window, gone into the night. His vision swam. The cleaver had hit him in the side as Quentin raised his arms to protect his head. He felt something hot trickle down his shirt, now soaked with blood. It was bad. The Trapper wiped the blade of the cleaver on his arm, before readying to swing again. Quentin hauled himself over the window ledge, pulling himself through, and dropped to the ground 15 feet below. He barely managed to stay upright, a cry of pain gasping from him as he landed. He groaned as he moved, pressing a hand to his side. He gritted his teeth and started limping off, back toward the front of the house. He dropped behind the broken down car in the driveway. His breath was coming in hitches. The thudding of boots came back down the stairs through the house. The door was thrown open, and Quentin barely managed to suppress a whimper of pain as the Trapper walked to the side of the house where Quentin and that girl had taken the window out. He risked a glance over the hood of the car, and saw the Trapper bent over. There was a cranking sound, and a click as (a trap, a bear trap with blunt metal teeth that cut to the bone, maulin-) something was set. Quentin closed his eyes and gasped silently in pain. He pulled his hand away, feeling the hot, stickiness of his own blood on it. He opened his eyes. It was bad alright.

“What the fuck.” He whispered to nothing and no one, as he lay there, back against the car, bleeding heavily from his butchered side, and coughing blood. 

When he finally passed out, his last conscious thoughts were of whether that girl was ok or not.


	2. Dreamworld

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a W.I.P, chapters may be slow coming. Any suggestions are welcome.

Quentin woke with a start. The first thing he noticed was how hard his heart was beating. The world around him was foggy and glaringly white. He pushed himself up from the bus stop bench, trying to look around. Hadn't he already been here? Hadn't something already happened here? He tried to rack his memory, but a voice (1..2 Freddy's coming for you..) kept telling him not to worry about it. He felt fuzzy, not all himself. He took a step forward, trying to shield his eyes from the white glare as he peered through the fog. Something fell from his pocket.

Ping.. ping.. clatter

He whirled around with a sharp intake of air. A quarter, giving off one single glint (3.. 4.. better lock your door..) as he looked at it, lay there on the concrete of the pathway. Quentin took a step forward, knelt down and picked up the coin. He examined the silver, turning it over, when suddenly a shadow accompanied his own on the ground in front of him. Quentin saw the outline of a hat (5.. 6.. grab your crucifix..) and threw himself away, scrabbling from the swish of claws slice through the fog. When he turned to look, nothing was there. His heart beat faster. The fog had cleared a little way down the path, Quentin noticed. As he approached the clearing, he saw the outline of the phonebox. His heart thumped painfully in his chest. He felt drawn to the box. The quarter was taken out of his pocket by what felt like someone else's (7.. 8 better stay up late..) hand. The pounding of his heart filled his head as he slowly inserted the coin into the box. He knew, somewhere far back in the recesses of his conscious, that this was it, he'd really gone and fucked it now, but he couldn't stop himself. His heart seemed to pause as he lifted the phone to his ear. 

"9.. 10.." whispered the thing on the other side of the phone.

Blood started oozing out of the phone holes. Quentin's heart roared back into life, thundering in his chest. He threw the phone away, crying out as he stumbled backwards. A hand steadied him. He opened his mouth in a wordless scream as he was turned around by the grip on his shoulder. 

"Never sleep again.." the sing song voice sang.

Kreuger chuckled in a low, demonic voice, plunging his bladed glove into Quentin's side.

Quentin felt the burning pain, the blood, his heart, trying to scream, trying anything, blood welling up from his lungs to his mouth, the senseless thud of his heart, and when it built up to the point he thought he was dead, Quentin woke up.


	3. Claudette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to add some more characters, still will mainly follow Quentin but the others will be there too.

She was moving quickly and quietly through the trees, tense and alert. She stepped over branches and twigs, trying to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. Her breath was rattly, shaking from nerves and strain. She couldn't remember the last time she'd rested. Her hands clutched her medicines, stored safely in her little kit. She'd just finished digging up some more echinacea - a plant that, Claudette learned, could treat wounds and other little things. In this realm, this place, any little medicine, however small, could be the difference between life and death. Thankfully, Claudette Morel had not yet witnessed a death. 

Claudette heard a crash from one of the houses nearby. She froze, listening. There was a tinkering of shattering glass, then a yell, quickly cut off. Claudette ducked behind a tree, hearing her heart thundering in her ears. There was silence for a while. She risked a peak around, spotting a gap in the hedge surrounding the house where the noises came from. Slowly, keeping low to the ground, she crept toward it. As she neared, a pained, pitiful whimper echoed. Rounding the corner, Claudette spotted a person, a boy, lying against a broken down car. He was half conscious, bleeding heavily from his side. As she approached, his breathing evened out. At first she thought it was because he'd died, but that momentary dark thought faded as quickly as it came when she realised he'd just fallen unconscious. Fallen asleep. She neared him. His messy brown hair peeked out from under his grey beanie. His face, while blemished, was plain but nice. Blood had been smeared lightly across his face, and his arm was soaked in it, from a gruesome wound on his side. He was pale, Claudette noticed. Too pale. The blood that came from his side had clearly slowed - it was dark and there was so much of it already there - but it still flowed nonetheless. She guessed he had a minute or so before he was gone - Claudette knew she might be overreacting, but that sense of urgency had helped in the past and it would help now. Grim set and determined, she put her medkit down and pulled out some morphine powder, in a little plastic tube that reminded her of sherbet straws. After some hesitation she also pulled out the herb she'd just dug up, echinacea. While she sprinkled the morphine on his wound, she put some of the plant in her mouth, chewing it into a pulp. It left a tingling on her tongue as she spread that on his side too. 

Although she had dug up the echinacea herself, the morphine she'd found had been tucked away into a uniform - which itself she'd found discarded in a creaky wooden home. Claudette had been a little surprised to come across something she could stick a date to - the swastika armband tucked away in the same pocket told her it was a German soldiers. The fact there was once a Nazi in this place didn't really matter to Claudette; surviving and helping those around her had taken up most of her thinking.. 

She'd managed to take off his jacket and shirt so she could get to his injury - he was tall but skinny, so he hadn't been difficult to shift. Now, as she wrapped bandages around his midsection, she noticed how hard his heart beat every time she leaned into his chest to reach the binding around. She sat back, releasing a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Claudette wondered if she should wake him. They needed to go somewhere safer. If they didn't, they could be caught out here, and have more than an injured side to worry about. Claudette watched him. Panic flared when she saw the clouds of warm breath slowly disappear. She held a finger below his nose, trying to feel for his breath. When she didn't feel anything, she put her hand on his neck, feeling for a pulse. She was almost pressed against his chest, listening for a heartbeat when he jolted awake. 

One hand instantly flew to his side as he sat bolt upright, almost hitting Claudette. She scrambled backwards on reflex. His breathing had come out in gasps as he woke up, but now he was calming down. Claudette stayed still, not wanting to scare him.

"What in the-?" He said, panicked.

He watched her for a second, before he lifted his hand from his side. Surprise showed when no fresh blood came away. He looked at his side then, and noticed the bandaging, and with a little awkwardness, his nakedness.

"You.. you did this?" The boy asked, flushing a little.

Claudette nodded, still wary.

"Thank you.. its well done.." He ran a thumb over the bandage. "What am I saying? You literally saved my life.." 

"It was nothing, really.." Claudette responded, feeling embarrassed by his gratitude.

"If that was nothing then I know who to come to whenever I get attacked by some tall brute." The boy responded dryly, grunting in pain as he tried to stand.

Claudette, quick as lightning was beneath him, supporting his weight while she eased him back to the ground. She knew they should move, but if they did, and they were caught along the way in this state..

"You need to rest." She told him.

The boy smiled, a mix of pain and sadness (oh I know) but didn't respond. He only reached for his shirt instead. He shook it out from his seat on the ground, and while he did, Claudette moved to collect her medicines again. She heard a russle of clothing, and then he swore quietly. When she turned to see what was wrong, she saw the four slash marks across the shirt chest, like someone had stabbed it with a knife and kept going, making tears. She didn't think he could get any paler. Then she realised that the slashes didn't fit the wound she'd treated. They didn't even line up for one, and the slashes were made from what seemed like smaller blades, not than a huge, welded cleaver. 

"What made those?" She asked quietly.

"Someone. Something. It's hard to explain."

Silence fell between them. His jacket had the same slashes, completely matching. When he saw them, he rubbed his eyes and held his head in his hands for a moment before putting the clothes back on. Even though he'd clearly just gotten here, to this place, he already had a tired air about him, and he didn't seem to be afraid. Well, not too much at least. Suddenly Claudette realised she didn't even know his name.

"I'm Claudette, in case you were wondering."

"Quentin."

"Glad to have met you." She smiled warmly at him.

He laughed, an odd sound in this realm.

"Definitely not as glad as I am!" Quentin replied, struggling once more to his feet. 

Claudette gestured to follow, and Quentin followed.

"Where are we going?"

"Wherever we can."


	4. Dwight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay between chapters, more will be coming much sooner to make up for it.

Dwight had been in this place for what felt like all eternity. Nea said he was being cliché whenever he said it out loud, though. That used to always make him laugh. Nowadays it was seeming less like a corny joke and more like a reality. He hadn't seen the others for a while now. It had just been him, Nea and Jake. They'd run into the Wraith while looking for supplies at the Gas Heaven and he'd been hunting them for a while. They'd only lost him once they got away from the Autohaven. They'd figured out that some of the killers rarely liked to leave their domains. 

He fiddled with his watch, which still showed 11:07pm. That was the last time he'd seen on his watch, before he had passed out on that fateful day. He was still trying to forget the feeling in his chest whenever he remembered waking up and being alone. They had all left him. On purpose. Just another joke, like his entire life seemed to be. 

"So much for team building exercises." Dwight thought, cringing at the memories.

Even though it didn't work, Dwight still loved his watch. It was a reminder of his old life, however horrible it was. At least back there he wasn't in danger of dying every hour.

"Hey, dork." Nea greeted him, plopping down on the log next to Dwight and leaning in to see his watch. "What time is it? Oh that's right, eleven-oh-seven-fucking-o'clock. It hasn't changed, what a surprise." 

"Hey, Nea." Dwight replied distantly, moving his focus away from the watch and back to the fire.

He and his colleagues had all been around a fire just like this one. 

"When are you going to tell me about it?" Nea asked, picking at her nails. 

Dwight shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"About what?" Dwight responded, looking at her.

"Why you still keep that watch. It doesn't work, it's practically junk, and we could use its batteries for our own stuff." 

"It's not junk."

"Sheesh, for a nerd you're pretty dim."

"That's a fancy word for a street urchin." 

Nea good heartedly shoved Dwight. He laughed. Dwight had a feeling that Nea knew why he kept the watch. Or, he knew Nea at least guessed why. He found it hard to talk about, though. To anyone. They looked to him as a leader, and he was afraid that if he told them anything about his past, they'd laugh like everyone always did and he'd lose any respect they had for him. 

"It's cold." Nea said, hugging her knees to her chest. 

Dwight leaned over and put a few more branches onto the fire. Embers flickered up into the night air. It was quite apart from the crackling of the flames. This realm didn't have much noise.

Setting up a campfire was always tricky. Somehow, once it was lit, any survivor could find their way to it. Like they had an internal compass, or something of the sort. Dwight didn't really understand it all. Laurie was the one who kept records of all the notes they had. She was the thinker. He was the leader. She was also missing, but that happened a lot in this place. They hadn't seen Adam for a while now, either.

Dwight and Nea were waiting for Jake to come back. He'd set some snares earlier today and had gone to check if any rabbits or the likes had been caught. Food in this place wasn't hard to comeby, but it wasn't easy to find either. 

"Jake will be back soon. Then we might have something to eat." Dwight told Nea, taking his hoodie from beside him and giving it to her.

She smiled appreciatively without looking him in the eye, and pulled it on. The girl found it hard to be open with others, or to show gratitude. Her life on the streets had roughed her up. Sometimes she talked to Dwight about it, but mostly she kept it to herself. Dwight wished he could help. She was better about it when she was alone with him, he thought. Hoped, more like. She was still herself, but she at least talked more about her past and her feelings than when she was with the others. 

Nea shuffled closer to Dwight, leaning into him.

"s'cold." She mumbled into his chest.

Dwight put an arm around her. 

"Y'know," Nea said, adjusting so she was pressed against Dwight's side. "I used to get super, super afraid whenever I saw one of those.. things." 

"Trust me, I still do." Dwight replied.

"You're good at hiding it."

"Really? You think so?"

"Not really." Nea smirked up at him.

Dwight pulled her hoodie up and over her head. Laughing, Nea continued.

"It shows. But not in a bad way. It shows in a way that makes us know that, you know the stakes. Like what could go wrong. But you're still calm. You're good at hiding how much it affects you. Some of the others don't realise it, but I like to think I do. You put others before yourself. You're a good leader." 

Nea looked up at Dwight. She gave him a small smile. 

"I feel safer when you're around." She finished, pressing against him slightly. 

Dwight blushed furiously.

"I'm not too scared of them anymore. Probably because I find myself helping your sorry ass every time we run into them." Nea laughed. Dwight laughed with her.

It felt good to laugh. After spending so much time in the trial hurting, running, fighting or hiding, there wasn’t much time for laughing or happiness. Once you knew you were safe, however, the feelings came back strong. 

Nea yawned next to him.

“Can Jake hurry the fuck up? I’m starving.”

Dwight had to agree with her. His stomach rumbled at the mention of food. Nea snorted at the sound. Once, rabbit stew would've been on the bottom of Dwight's to-eat list. Now, it was almost sounding gourmet. Just as the thought crossed his mind, Jake emerged from the trees, carrying two rabbits and some ropes, probably from the snares. His scruffy black hair looked like a birds nest and he had a wary expression. At the sight of Nea wearing Dwight’s jumper, his face split into a broad smile and his demeanour changed.

“Been busy you two?” He grinned.

“More business than you could even hope for, Jake.” Nea scowled.

“Right, let’s go with that. I got us some food, by the way. Bit scrawny, but they’ll fill us up.” Jake continued. “Although maybe not as much as that scrawny rabbit, hey Nea?” He nodded to her, gesturing to Dwight.

Jake barely had time to put down the rabbits before Nea ran at him. Jake ducked the first grab and started running. Dwight laughed, at their antics. Meg appeared from across the clearing, with Ace and Feng in tow. Jake barrelled past her, forcing Meg to hop out of the way. Nea sprinted after Jake, cursing him.

“What’s with those two?” Meg asked Dwight. 

She pulled her cap off and threw it down near one of the logs surrounding the campfire. Her red hair was in three braids, reaching the shoulders of her black sport top. Meg sat down with a sigh, stretching her legs in front of her. Feng followed suit, pushing her black hair behind one ear and sitting down on the ground, back against the same log as Dwight. She huffed a sigh of relief.

"It's soo good being back at the campfire. I've been running for like, 3 days now." Feng chatted to no one in particular.

"Two days, actually." Ace answered, sitting down beside Dwight who was watching Nea put Jake in a headlock. 

"With you it felt like three." Feng grumbled back.

"When did we get the rabbits? I went to the Gas Heaven, but I only-" Meg was cut off abruptly as Dwight laughed loudly again; Jake had stood up, still in the headlock, and now Nea dangled in the air thirty centimeters off the ground.

"What the..?" Meg had followed Dwight's gaze. "They could hurt themselves if they're not careful."

She had tried to sound disapproving, but her laughter soon joined Dwight's. 

"Honestly, I think them hurting each other will make it funnier." Feng chimed in.

Nea had let go of Jake now. Jake was laughing as they walked back to the others, talking about Nea's reaction to being lifted off the ground. Nea punched him on the shoulder. 

"Are you guys done? I don't know about you, but I'm famished and this stew isn't gonna stew itself." Ace called out to the others as he pulled out a pot from a duffel bag, overflowing with utensils the survivors had found.

"Here, toss me the knife and I'll get to work on the first one." Jake replied, sitting back down and grabbing a rabbit.

Ace tossed him a dulled hunting knife from the bag, and Jake started the painful process of skinning the rabbit, hampered by the blade. It was the only one they had, so the survivors had grown used to its dullness. One time David had attempted to use it against Myers, claiming to Laurie that "no bogeyman could take a knife to the heart." He hadn't been wrong; the blade never even pierced the man's chest before David had been thrown bodily across the forest floor. They'd had to split up again after that.

Meg had tied some sticks together to act as a spit, to hang the pot over the fire. 

"Who wants a game?" Ace asked, pulling out his pack of cards, which Feng neatly plucked out of his hand from over Ace's shoulder.

"After you finish chopping these stupid carrots." She told him, smiling sweetly as she gave him the orange vegetables.

Ace picked up the butter knife they used for vegetables with a dejected look and started cutting the carrots. He was tossing each slice lightly into the pot as he cut them, where they landed with a 'plonk'. Dwight was pouring water into the pot from the plastic bottles they had lying around, while Nea took one of the half-full ones and started flipping it, trying to get it to land upright. She was still wearing Dwight's hoodie. 

Smoke swirled up into the night sky, acting like a beacon in amidst the dense canopy of the forest. Crows called to one another, flying high before disappearing into the trees once more. A distance away, on top of a hill with an old, disrepaired water tower, stood a figure. He was shrouded in night, his cloak blowing slightly in a phantom wind. He was watching the smoke column rising into the sky. Beneath his mask, he grinned. He loved a good hunt.


	5. David

David's feet pounded along the floor as he ran, breathing evenly. He had done this a hundred times. No sweat. He probably wouldn't have needed to do it a hundred times if he didn't go looking for them, but that was just the way he was. His heart pounded in his chest, but he was used to it. He heard frenzied breathing from behind him. He turned sharply, almost falling with the change in momentum. He kept himself up with a push off the ground and kept running. Behind him, the killer vaulted over a couch and gained on him. He sprinted outside into the freezing weather, the snow piles and run down chair lifts littering the ground. Cold sleet whipped him in the face as he tried to out-distance his pursuer. A knife flew past his ear, and he flung his arm out in retaliation. He felt it connect with something, and then heard an angry cry. 

"Take that ya cunt!" He called over his shoulder, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He ducked down behind a disrepaired shed, looking out across the frozen landscape. Another person thumped against the wall behind him. David put out a hand to quiet them.

"When I say go, we sprint back into the lodge, ok? There's gotta be somethin' we can use to get outta here." David told the person, eyes still on the frosty world beyond.

A grunt was the only confirmation David needed. Suddenly, a face appeared from around the wall in front of David. It was smeared with blood to form an "X" where the mouth should be. The masked women buried her knife into the wall right beside David's face.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here-" Her eyes flashed in surprise and confusion as she looked behind David to the other survivor. "What the fuc-"

It was the only pause David needed. He drove his shoulder up and into the girls face, before running again.

"Go go go!" He yelled to the other survivor.

They ran long and hard into the lodge. David's heart was pounding again, and behind him he heard panting. It sounded almost excited. He vaulted a window before once more ducking down. The other person followed suit. 

"Nicely done, mate." David said to the person.

He carefully peaked out of a crack in the wall. The world outside was once again still. Nothing there. Beside him, the other person shuffled around a bit.

"I think we're all good, it looks like we lost-"

His words were cut off as a knife was wedged into his stomach. He looked over to the wielder, and saw that the person he had ran with wasn't a survivor. He was one of them. His mask grinned back manically as he removed the hunting knife from David's midriff, before plunging it in again and twisting it. David uttered a surprised croak, before slumping. A warm gush came from the wound. It burned like hell, and the heat of the blood met the cold air of the mountains with a hiss of steam. David gave a cough, blood running down his chin. The frenzied killer swiped his hand across his mask with a bloodied sleeve, leaving a smear of blood there. Two more masked people appeared from behind him. He saw one was the girl who he'd jumped just before. Another masked member walked into the room. He spotted David and walked right up to him. This mask was different to the others. David could see the eyes. The skull face masked didn't say anything though. He didn't need to. His eyes conveyed what his mouth didn't. 

"Maybe that's why he shows his eyes.." David thought, the world fading around him.

The skullface pulled out his own knife and pushed it into David's thigh. Slowly. The pink haired girl bounced up beside him, brandishing her own blade; a sharpened blade fixed to the end of a ruler. She drew it playfully across his throat.

"Just remember, big boy."

The girl David had shouldered knelt down beside him, tracing her knife down his chest.

"We are Legion."

The world came suddenly alive for the split second the knife entered his heart.

When David awoke, he was in a cornfield.


End file.
